


come just a little bit (closer until we collide)

by tokyonightskies



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Chases, Crushes, Final Fantasy XIV: Stormblood, Gen, Hunters & Hunting, Minor Violence, Parkour, Patch 4.0: Stormblood Spoilers, Unnamed Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Unresolved Emotional Tension, ZenoHika Week (Final Fantasy XIV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:48:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26142109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tokyonightskies/pseuds/tokyonightskies
Summary: He caught a glimpse of them at the end of a narrow alleyway.It wasn't his habit to leave the palace grounds; the dreary monotony of day-to-day happenings stayed the same whether he strayed past the castle walls or not, and with the prospect of a final confrontation with the Warrior of Light ahead he no longer spared his soldiers’ reports a perfunctory glance. It was all so very boring. Not even the slaughter at Specula Imperatoris had drawn him to the city outside. There hadn’t been anything special about this morning either, but the sky looked as if covered by a sheet of frosted glass, and Ala Mhigo was sealed away in a dull, leaden light. Seized by a flight of fancy, Zenos dressed, skipped breakfast and ventured out.The shivery shadow of torn tarpaulin was etched on the roadside bricks, eclipsing his tall, lonesome silhouette. He tilted his head to the side. They scrunched against the wall, regarding him with eyes that flashpoint in their sockets, like those of a bungled hare in the fields at midnight.Their lips were pursed in what might’ve been a smile, might’ve been a wounded frown.--or isn't it enough to want zenos to chase you like an excitable, murderous golden retriever?
Relationships: Zenos yae Galvus/Warrior of Light
Comments: 1
Kudos: 29





	come just a little bit (closer until we collide)

**Author's Note:**

> "Want something to chase you? Run."  
> — Richard Siken, “Bird Hover the Trampled Field,” War of the Foxes (2015)

He caught a glimpse of them at the end of a narrow alleyway. 

It wasn't his habit to leave the palace grounds; the dreary monotony of day-to-day happenings stayed the same whether he strayed past the castle walls or not, and with the prospect of a final confrontation with the Warrior of Light ahead he no longer spared his soldiers’ reports a perfunctory glance. It was all so very boring. Not even the slaughter at Specula Imperatoris had drawn him to the city outside. There hadn’t been anything special about this morning either, but the sky looked as if covered by a sheet of frosted glass, and Ala Mhigo was sealed away in a dull, leaden light. Seized by a flight of fancy, Zenos dressed, skipped breakfast and ventured out. 

The shivery shadow of torn tarpaulin was etched on the roadside bricks, eclipsing his tall, lonesome silhouette. He tilted his head to the side. They scrunched against the wall, regarding him with eyes that flashpoint in their sockets, like those of a bungled hare in the fields at midnight. 

Their lips were pursed in what might’ve been a smile, might’ve been a wounded frown. 

Ala Mhigo’s noise and bustle died away, and the knot of people that congregated at the butcher shop's front unraveled in between the moment he first peered into the alleyway and the now. The shred of tarpaulin snapped against a wooden beam, and Zenos delighted in the way the Warrior of Light shrunk at the violent sound. Whatever the reason for their presence--  _ reconnaissance or thinning out the ranks _ \--, he was full glad to have stumbled upon them. His hand came to rest on the hilt of Ame-no-Habakiri, fastened at his hip. They pressed their forearm against the wall, hollowed out by pockmarks and deep gouges in the stone at places, and schooled their expression into one of determination. 

Anticipation pooled down low in his belly. From this distance, the crunch of gravel when they aligned their heels had this echoey quality, and Zenos tucked his thumb under the guard of his blade. 

_ How far have they come since Doma? How much further must they still push for the final duel?  _

They darted out of the alleyway’s yawning mouth and flitted past him, giving him no more than a quick, sideway glance. Zenos’ breath stopped in his throat, and for a brief moment he was simply stunned, unable to keep an incredulous smile off his mouth; teeth bared to the gum lines. He whirled around, stared after them. In the thin morning sunlight, the Warrior was burnished golden. The sound of their boots slapping on the harsh underground got lost in the bloodbuzz between his ears. They rounded the corner, setting off in the direction of the main gate. 

All this dangerous, coiled energy in his body unwinded and flooded his bloodstream. Zenos rasped out a laugh that was more similar to the reverse of a gasp and gave chase. 

They came barreling down the main street, wide and lined with tall sandstone buildings; the fronts of which were chipped from withstanding decades of sand and salt. The briny air of the Lochs lingered inside the city walls. If the winds came from the southwest, the smell even pervaded the palace grounds. Zenos felt like a live wire, as if every nerve ending was on the surface, exposed and raw. His reflexes were set on a filed pin, and when the Warrior swerved to duck past a couple of fruit merchants, he callously pushed them aside and ran along. The large wicker basket they were carrying crashed into the ground. 

Bergamot oranges rolled out with slow, solid thuds. One of the merchants opened his mouth to complain but a single glimpse of the viceroy sufficed to let the words die stillborn on his tongue.

More obstacles came in the shape of a small patrol. The Warrior sidestepped a soldier by jumping against the wall and launching themselves higher in the air. They slammed both knees into another guard's back, toppling him over, and bracing themselves with open hands, quickly scrambled upright again. Before the other two soldiers could draw their gunblades, Zenos cut them down. Blood sprayed against the sandstone bricks. The last guard curled up, tucking his chin against his chest and clutching his helmet with both hands, and whimpered pitifully in the shade.

_ Nobody was to interfere with his hunt. _ Zenos grinned, stone-crazy, snatching air into his lungs. His pupils were pinpricks of black in a manic sea of blue. 

Looming ahead was the main gate. 

He paced the distance between them with his third eye, and rushed forwards. It was exhilarating; this atavistic  _ need _ to catch them before they slipped from his grasp. As if sensing his thoughts, the Warrior threw a frenzied look over their shoulder. He saw the realization dawn that they were steadily losing ground, and shot off in a mad dash. Without warning, the Warrior careened to the side and flattened themself against the wall. Zenos skidded over the gritty sand, kicking up a cloud of dust. His hair whipped around his face.

Hauling a hand through his blonde strands, he took a purposeful step in their direction, moving with the economy and aloofness of a large cat. "Come now,  _ my beast _ . Have you tired of our little race so easily? Or mayhaps you are reluctant to admit defeat?"

They briskly shook their head, and their eyes flicked from right to left before settling on the behemoth of a man before them.  _ If only looks could kill…  _ Zenos heaved a content sigh and idly stroked the hilt of his blade. Caught in the oblong shadow of the wall, the Warrior's expression remained unreadable. Until a flicker of  _ something  _ passed over their face, something unlike the dead hate Zenos had seen in so many adversaries before. They spun around, a limber movement like rippled silk, and angled for a roundhouse kick. Zenos brought his arm up to block, but the sheer force behind the kick had him staggering back. 

_ It hurt,  _ and he'd be pleasantly surprised if they caused a hairline fracture in the bone. 

"Well done," Zenos purred, slowly spreading his arms for another blow in the same fashion one would welcome an embrace from a dear acquaintance. "I had hoped you would come to realize your potential."

They gritted their teeth and lunged again, stepping in front of him with a boxer's feint, but before they drove their fist into his solar plexus, they suddenly changed tactics and ducked underneath his arm. For one glorious second, Zenos could feel the warmth of their hand through the fabric of his shirt where they brushed against his hip. Backlit in the blazing sun, they were reduced to a silhouette, prey starved of darkness. They dispatched the guard stationed at the main gate with the same determination of a man thinking ahead three steps in every circumstance and slinked through the thin sliver of space. 

And then the Warrior was gone. 

Zenos slumped against the wall, cheek pressed against cool stone, and blithely disregarded the burn in his chest. The tang of iron stuck to the roof of his mouth, and he tongued the back of his teeth, the inside of his cheek. His shoulders shook with silent laughter. 

They’d be back after all.

**Author's Note:**

> title plucked from fka twigs' song "mary magdalene". 
> 
> i wrote this drabble on and off over the span of two business days. if there are any incongruities, i apologize. as for the why, ever since i learned of zenohika week this past sunday, this particular prompt resonated with me. it's been a while since i felt this particular itch, and i gladly dug my nails in.


End file.
